


Blame It On The Alcohol

by yumytaffy



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV), Parks and Recreation
Genre: Bartender Hans x Mother Teresa Luther King, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Snake Juice, White Josh: Secret Renaissance Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumytaffy/pseuds/yumytaffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg gets a lot of bottles of Snake Juice. He and Rebecca throw a party. Drunkenness ensues.</p><p>Post-1x08 ‘My Mom, Greg's Mom and Josh's Sweet Dance Moves!’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It On The Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to to my partner in spiraling/shenanigans, angelica (AKA fulltimeprocrastinator). Special thanks to my beta/ideas gal, diaphenia. I adore you both like Bartender Hans loves black shirts.
> 
> This isn't technically a Parks and Recreation crossover, though it has Snake Juice and a handful of references to episode 3x13 'The Fight.' In case you haven't seen Parks and Rec, first of all, please watch it. It's a delight. Secondly, the only thing you need to know is that Snake Juice is a delicious alcohol that gets people really drunk.

Rebecca stands back and admires her cobweb-free high ceilings. Since she actually unpacked and decorated her apartment, it’s really felt like a home. Making a home means cleaning even those hard to reach areas that require professional-grade dusters with extendable arms. Who said late night infomercial purchases were useless?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock, then the opening of her front door. Greg comes in without waiting for an answer, carrying a medium-sized box that clinks lightly when he walks. “You really should lock your door.”

Rebecca looks down at her sweats and the long-armed duster in her hand, then back at Greg. “I don't disagree.”

She and Greg have been honest-to-goodness friends for a few months now, but it still surprises her how comfortable they are around each other. There were those couple of weeks after she found out Greg and Heather were dating where it got kind of awkward, but it’s fine now. Greg’s her friend. Heather’s her friend. What they do together is totally their business. Rebecca is happy that her friends are happy. That's what she keeps telling herself, at least.

He looks around at the cleaning supplies strewn about the room. “You are having quite the Friday night.”

“Alright, judge-y. What are you doing here?” She peers into the box in his arms. “Oh. You brought an entire liquor store.”

“My boss Kevin gave this to me.” Greg puts the box on the table and pulls out a curvy glass bottle filled with a brown liquid and topped with a faux diamond stopper. “Have you heard of Snake Juice?”

“No, but it sounds...elaborate.” Rebecca takes the bottle and inspects the label. Knowing full well what the answer should be, she asks casually, “Any particular reason why Kevin gave you an excessive amount of alcohol?”

”Extra inventory?” Greg suggests with a shrug.

It takes everything in Rebecca to not roll her eyes. She knows it’s a birthday present. If Greg doesn’t want people to know that it’s his birthday next week, he shouldn’t have put it on Facebook. Knowing Old Man Serrano and his general confusion about social media, though, he probably isn’t even aware he did it.

Whatever. If Greg’s going to be weird about his birthday, Rebecca will let it slide for now. “Kevin must really like you to give you an entire case.”

“Actually, two cases. There’s another one in my car. And I think he hates me. I’m sure I overheard him on the phone talking about how he couldn’t sell these bottles.”

“That’s not suspicious at all. Why did you bring these here?”

“I figured if it's illegal, you can get me out of it.”

“That is actually not the first time I’ve been told that.” She pulls out her phone and types. “Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

They do a Google search on Snake Juice and only find a special event announcement for a Snake Juice party in a random nightclub in Indiana. The site boasts:

_A delicious blend of many kinds of alcohol, coffee, sugar, and ingredients, SnakeJuice slips down the throat with ease, packs a serious bite, and sheds away the troubles of your day. It will make your nights better... it will make your conversations sexier... it will make your feelings feeling-er... it's venom for your soul! In a good way._

“I don’t want venom in my soul in _any_ way,” Greg says as he reads over her shoulder.

“Good thing you don't have a soul.”

“Ha ha,” Greg deadpans, though the corner of his mouth turns up as if he’s fighting an actual laugh.

Rebecca pockets her phone. “Well, no one seems to have died from it, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You’re setting the bar for ‘safe’ kind of low.” Greg opens a bottle and takes a tentative whiff. “It smells like pure sugar, but it isn’t terrible.”

Rebecca retrieves two glasses from the kitchen and pours a little bit in each. She hands one to Greg and says cheerily, “If we die, it’s your fault for bringing this into my home.”

“Maybe we should tell someone before we drink this.”

“Live a little, Serrano. Cheers.” They clink glasses and take small sips. It tastes like a sweet boozy coffee that isn’t cloying or artificial. “You know what, it’s actually kind of delicious.”

Greg downs the rest of his glass. “Maybe Kevin does like me.”

Rebecca’s been trying and failing to come up with a good birthday present for him for the past two weeks, but it hits her now all at once: It’s Greg’s birthday, and they have all this free alcohol. The next logical step would be to have a party.

She already foresees his protest against it, but Greg is a marshmallow at heart. He’d love to hang out with his friends for his birthday. If Josh happens to be there, all the better for Rebecca. She’s actually surprised how not anxious she is at the thought of throwing a disastrous party, probably because the last one almost crashed and burned, and it still turned out pretty fun.

Refilling their glasses, she says, “When can I stop pretending that I don’t know it’s your birthday next week?”

“No, it’s not." At Rebecca’s raised eyebrows, he confesses, “Fine, it is. How did you know that?”

“I’m a lawyer. I know things. Also, it’s on your Facebook profile.”

“I really need to figure out how to change that. Look, I don’t like making a big deal about my birthday. It’s just a normal day that happens to mark the inevitable march towards death.”

“Wow. Okay, sunshine. I was just thinking we should have a totally low-key birthday shindig. It won’t be a big deal.”

“Absolutely not. That is the opposite of ‘not making a big deal.’”

“Come on, Greg! It’ll be fun.”

“I already have plans for my birthday.”

“You sitting in your underwear, drinking beer and playing _Fallout 4_ does not count as ‘birthday plans.’”

“Sounds like a pretty great birthday to me.”

“Listen, we’ll have it here and invite our friends--okay, they’re mostly your friends--and treat them to this dangerous-sounding but great-tasting alcohol that has suddenly fallen in your lap. Nothing big. And you won't have to do a thing. I'll take care of everything. It'll be my present to you.”

“No.”

“Greg.”

“Rebecca.”

“ _Greg_.”

“Repeating my name is not an argument.” He closes his eyes for a moment and sighs. “Fine.”

“You are wrong to not want a party, and these are the reasons--wait. You said yes. You’re not going to fight me more on this?”

“What’s the point? You’re relentless.”

“Aw, thank you!”

“Not a compliment. I’m just saving time.”

Rebecca is too busy contemplating party ideas to notice his jab. “Mm-hmm. That’s great. Now, do you prefer regular cake or ice cream cake?”

* * *

“So what's the Josh plan tonight?” Paula asks as she tapes up streamers on the night of the party. “Is Voltron coming? I can distract her by pouring hot coffee on her so you can get some Josh face time in.”

Rebecca pauses her hanging of the “Happy Birthday, Greg!” banner. The thought of Josh being in her apartment didn’t even cross her mind in the last week. She was too busy sending out Evites and invitation texts, marveling at how easy it was to get people to agree to come. It makes sense, she supposes. Most of the guests are Greg’s friends, and she’s been in town long enough, so she actually knows most of them by now, too. There isn’t any panicked flyering or intercepting of Whatever Anonymous groups this time.

“I didn’t really think about it,” Rebecca says finally. “I’ll just wing it.”

“Rebecca, this is a huge chance to spend time with Josh on your own turf. You need a plan. What else could you have possibly thought about this week? Greg?” Paula laughs to herself and goes back to taping streamers. When Rebecca remains silent, Paula turns back to her. “Don’t tell me you were thinking about Greg.”

“Maybe I _was_ thinking about Greg and what he’d want for his party. It’s his birthday.”

Paula narrows her eyes. “You’re being considerate of him. Now that I think about it, you've been spending a lot of time with him lately, too. What’s going on with you two?”

“Other than one friend throwing a birthday party for another friend, there’s nothing going on. And anyway, he’s going out with Heather.”

“Are you saying that if he wasn’t going out with someone, there would be something going on between you?”

“Of course not!”

Rebecca is spared from having to explain any further by Heather walking into the apartment with a small grocery bag. Heather announces, “I brought ice.”

“Oh, hey, _Heather_ ,” Rebecca says pointedly, glancing at Paula to end the conversation and taking the bag from Heather. “Thanks for the ice, but this is only enough for, like, four drinks.”

“You’re welcome,” Heather says as she surveys the apartment decked out in balloons, streamers, and a giant beer bottle-shaped piñata. “It looks like an alcoholic eight-year-old’s birthday in here.”

“I will take that as a compliment. Would you like a drink?” Rebecca asks in her best hostess voice as she motions towards the drink table. There’s a keg on the side along with whatever bottles of alcohol she had on hand, but for the most part, there’s just a lot of Snake Juice.

“What’s this?” Heather asks, picking up one of the many bottles of Snake Juice on the table.

“That is our featured beverage for the evening.” Rebecca drops the hostess voice. “Greg’s boss gave him, like, a million bottles of this stuff, so we’re trying to get rid of it. But it’s actually kind of delicious, so it works out.”

“Rebecca?” Greg calls as he enters the apartment.

“Hey, happy birthday!” Rebecca greets. “You’re early.”

“I thought I’d help set up, but it looks like you got it handled.” He sees the others in the room. “Hey, Heather, Paula.”

“Hi, Greg,” they both say disinterestedly.

“Good to see you guys, too,” he says dryly, then turns to apparently the only person in the room who wants him there. “What can I help with?”

“I think we’re good,” Rebecca says. “Decorations are up, food is out, drinks are set up. We’ll start the music in a little bit. People should be arriving any minute.”

A few minutes later at 7:00 PM, the familiar panic rises in Rebecca’s chest. She paces the room, unconsciously flapping her arms a little. “The invitations said 7:00. Why isn’t anyone here? What if no one shows up?”

Heather puts a cup of Snake Juice in her hand. “Then you better start drinking. There are a million bottles of this.”

Greg shoots a glare in Heather’s direction. “Relax, Rebecca. No one shows up exactly on time.”

Sure enough, a steady stream of guests begins arriving. Rebecca recognizes maybe half of them, but at least Greg seems to know them. He appears behind her as she closes the front door behind another arrival.

“You invited my dentist?” he asks her. “And my babysitter from when I was in grade school?”

“Yeah, I invited all of your Facebook friends.”

“What?” he asks, panicked. “Rebecca, I’m Facebook friends with ex-girlfriends and weird people whom I pity-friended. Those aren’t all real friends.”

“It’s your fault for staying Facebook friends with weirdos and your exes,” Rebecca answers with a shrug. She lets him stew for a moment before laughing. “Don’t worry. White Josh vetted the guest list and weeded out any awkwardness before I invited anyone. Speaking of which, when this is over, you’re telling me more about Kathy Sawyer from the ninth grade.”

If possible, Greg’s panic intensifies. He glances at the front door and almost deflates in relief. “Oh, look, Josh is here. Hey, Josh!”

Josh waves hello from the doorway and joins them with an already-scowling Valencia, who looks around at the apartment and fairly large group of people spilling out onto the back patio. The edge of disdain in her eyes has worn off a bit since Thanksgiving at the Chans’ house, though. Rebecca counts it as a win.

“Hey, bro, happy birthday!” Josh greets Greg with a hug, then turns to Rebecca. “Becks, thanks for inviting us!”

Rebecca goes in for her own hug but is stopped by Valencia’s glare.

“Rebecca,” Valencia greets coldly. “You look stressed.”

“And _you_ look as lovely as ever, Valencia,” Rebecca says cheerily with a slight bow. “Might you be interested in a lot of alcohol?”

“Awesome!” Josh exclaims, leading Valencia to the drinks.

“This is going to be fun!” Rebecca says tightly. It’ll be a challenge even getting near Josh tonight, much less alone, if Valencia is around.

“If anything goes wrong tonight, I am completely blameless,” Greg reminds her, watching Valencia pouring way too much alcohol into a cup. “You made this happen.”

“It’s time for shots!” Josh calls out, waving Greg and Rebecca over to the dozen or so people cheering at the drink table. He passes them shots of Snake Juice when they join the crowd.

“Again,” Greg says to Rebecca, eying the shot in his hand, “your fault.”

“To Greg!” Josh toasts. “Happy Birthday!”

“To Greg!” the group echoes. The shots are downed and met with murmurs of appreciation.

Another shot is suddenly in Rebecca’s hand, and the second round goes much the same way as the first. Bottles of Snake Juice are passed around as people try to figure out what they just drank and where they can get more after the party. Rebecca catches Valencia sneaking in a third shot when Valencia thinks no one is looking.

If whatever happens tonight is Rebecca's doing, she thinks she might as well start lining up the Ubers outside now.

* * *

“The veterinarians found a new tail cancer on Long John Silver,” Karen says sadly of her pet snake. “They say they’ve never seen it before. They’re writing him up in a medical journal. It’s completely incurable.”

“I totally agree,” Rebecca says idly, feigning interest. She doesn't even know who invited Karen or how she got cornered by her.

As she looks around for any excuse to exit this conversation, Rebecca accidentally locks eyes with Valencia across the room. Rebecca freezes, unable to look away. To her surprise, Valencia doesn’t look angry, just calls Rebecca’s name and waves her over. Valencia might even be...smiling? Can Valencia smile out of happiness, or does she only show teeth as an intimidation tactic?

“Karen, stop talking.” Rebecca whips around to look for Greg and jumps a little when she finds him directly behind her, talking to someone. She hits his arm to get his attention. “Greg, am I drunk or is Valencia smiling at me?”

“First of all, ow. You've clearly been over served.” Greg glances across the room. “And yes, Valencia is smiling. When she drinks, she's either really nice or really mean.”

“She gets _meaner_?”

“She once made Hector cry by saying his kitten chose to walk into traffic to get away from him.”

“Oh, my God!” Rebecca gasps.

“She looks like she's a nice drunk tonight,” Greg offers.

“Can you come with me? It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I don’t believe you.” Rebecca drags Greg across the living room to where Valencia and Josh are. “Heeeeey, Valencia. How’s it shakin’?”

“Hey, guys!” Josh greets. “Great party. This Snake Juice stuff is very good.”

Valencia practically falls into Rebecca and slings an arm over her shoulders. The red cup in Valencia’s other hand sloshes alarmingly. “Becca, even though you’re the living worst, I wish you weren't pretenning--no, pre-ten-ding to be my friend. That was fun hanging out before.”

Rebecca is so taken aback, she blurts, “I wasn’t pretending!”

“Yeah, you were!” Valencia says, somehow making slurring seem sexy. “Too bad. I didn’t completely hate you, and I hate everyone.”

“No, I really like you!” Rebecca finds that she genuinely means it.

“You do?”

“You're, like, one of the coolest people I ever met!” Rebecca exclaims.

“That’s so nice!”

Rebecca and Valencia lapse into a high-pitched battle of compliments. Next to them, Josh and Greg watch uncomfortably.

“Their voices are starting to hurt my ears,” Josh says, wincing.

“I want to not be here,” Greg says, “but I also don’t want to leave them alone in case Valencia sobers up and remembers she hates Rebecca.”

They watch the women warily for a moment before Josh asks, “Hey, did you see White Josh’s new 3D TV?”

They're so caught up in discussing the pros and cons of playing video games on a 3D TV that they don't notice when Valencia and Rebecca start trading shoes.

* * *

Paula drags Rebecca away from Valencia with the excuse of replenishing the food table, but they just end up drinking in the kitchen.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo of a clock,” Rebecca says, leaning against the fridge and looking thoughtfully at her arm. “I hate needles, but I think now’s a good time--”

“Y’ know what?” Paula interrupts. “Screw it. Just go for it with Greg.”

Her brain is a little fuzzy from all the alcohol, but Rebecca’s pretty sure she didn’t miss a conversation transition. “What’re you talking about?”

“You an’ Greg! I've been trying to steer you away from him ‘cause Josh, but who ’m I kidding? I've been watching you two tonight. You work together. I don’t think he an’ Heather are doin’ it anymore. They’re giving off this mutual annoyance vibe. It’s how I feel about my husband most of the time.”

“‘Kay, Paula,” Rebecca laughs uncomfortably and reaches for Paula’s cup, “I’ll take the rest of this.”

Paula holds her cup away. “Listen, babe, I may be drunk, but y’know I'm right. I mean, if you're not gonna take advantage of that sexy hunk o’ beefcake, someone should. In fact--”

Rebecca can't quite put together what is happening, only that Paula has suddenly made a beeline for Greg in the other room. The words “Paula! Stop!” flash in Rebecca’s head as she takes off after her friend.

“Hey, what's goin’ on here?” Rebecca greets, sidling up next to where Paula has taken to asking Greg about his workout regimen.

Paula motions jerkily with her cup. “I'm jus’ sayin’, Rebecca, if you're not gonna hit this, I might as well--”

“Woah!” Rebecca moves between her and Greg as quickly as her own drunkenness allows. “Paula! You’re married an’ drunk. Greg, you're...Greg. Stop it.”

“I didn't do anything,” Greg says.

“You know what you did, mister,” Rebecca says angrily as she drags Paula away. She doesn’t actually know, but it feels like the right thing to say.

Rebecca is suddenly aware of her full bladder and drops off Paula with a bewildered Heather. “I have to pee like a racehorse. Whatever you do, do not let Paula near Greg.”

“Wait,” Heather calls to a retreating Rebecca, “why do I have to babysit?”

“Thanks, Heather!” she calls over her shoulder as she stumbles up the stairs.

* * *

It all happens so quickly. One minute, Hector is saying they should play a game. The next minute, Rebecca is standing on her patio at one end of a beer pong table with Valencia. Greg and Josh huddle in a hushed strategizing session on the other side.

“I don’t know why you’re trying,” Valencia calls over to the guys. “It’d be faster to hand the trophy to us now.”

“There’s a trophy?” Josh asks Greg hopefully.

“No, there’s no trophy,” Greg sighs in exasperation. He looks over at Rebecca and tilts his head at his teammate as if asking her to trade. She laughs and shakes her head. As much as she'd love to be on Josh’s team, past experiences say that it’s better to be on Valencia side rather than against her, and Rebecca plans on sticking with that.

“Greg says there’s no trophy,” Josh tells his girlfriend.

Valencia crosses her arms. “Well, you should make one ‘cause that’s how hard we’re gonna beat your asses.”

It doesn't surprise Rebecca that Valencia is competitive, though now this fun game of beer pong has an added element of danger because there is no telling what Valencia will do if they lose.

Rebecca begins the game trying to impress Josh but finds her focus shift to Greg and the kind of adorable way he narrows his eyes and that little wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows when he’s focusing really hard on aiming the ping pong ball. It’s definitely the Snake Juice talking and not her usual thoughts, so she tells herself it’s completely fine to think about her friend that way.

This game itself proceeds evenly, both sides making and missing a fair amount of shots, but then the guys make three shots in a row, and it suddenly gets very serious. She kind of wants to kill Greg now. Josh is pretty much dead to her. Maybe she should’ve warned them that she has a competitive streak, too.

Right before one of Greg’s turns, Valencia calls a timeout.

“‘Becca, face me.” Valencia tugs Rebecca’s neckline down and pushes her boobs up.

“Woah, what’re you doing?” Rebecca wonders if the haze of alcohol is making her imagine Valencia feeling her up.

“Letting the girls out,” Valencia says as she futzes with Rebecca’s blouse. “Your boobs ‘re better than your aim, so we’re working with what we got.”

“What’re you doing over there?” Greg calls out, wobbling a little himself.

“Strat’gizing,” Valencia answers. She turns back to Rebecca. “Right before Greg throws, lean forward.”

“Are you serious? He won’t fall for that.”

“Honey, you do not know your power over him. Just do it.”

Rebecca thinks it's silly, but she bends down to tie a non-existent shoelace right as he pulls back to throw. The ball veers so far to the right, it doesn't even touch the table. The crowd around them explodes in boos and laughter.

She and Valencia share a cackle and high five.

“That's cheating!” Josh cries. Valencia winks and blows him a kiss.

For his part, Greg just looks ashamed and can’t quite look in Rebecca’s direction. She’s not sure what future situation she’ll be able to use this information but mentally files it away.

Rebecca and Valencia’s secret weapons stop working after a few minutes of back and forth, but the damage has been done. The guys only have one cup left on their side to the ladies’ four. Valencia neatly sinks the last shot, securing their victory.

As Rebecca and Valencia hug and clink plastic cups of Snake Juice in celebration, Rebecca can practically feel Paula’s eyes burning into her back. She makes a mental note to assure Paula that she has nothing to worry about, but right now, she’s going to savor this surely temporary friendship.

* * *

After her fourth bathroom trip of the night, Rebecca finds White Josh staring out a window into the night sky, red cup of Snake Juice in his hand. She’s feeling a little wobbly herself from all the alcohol in her system, but even she recognizes that this behavior isn’t typical for him.

“You ‘kay, White Jos’?” she asks, following his eye line and managing to not stumble into him.

He glances down at her in acknowledgement. “Hey, Rebecca. I’m just, you know, reflecting on our existence. Do you ever just wonder what’s out there?”

Maybe it’s the Snake Juice talking, but that actually makes sense to her. “Yeah! Like, what’s in the void?”

“Exactly,” White Josh says. “Is it nothing...or everything?”

“Woah,” Rebecca breathes, staring at the stars. “You jus’ blew my mind.”

White Josh goes on to talk about black holes and how our lives on earth are but a blip in the timeline of the universe, but Rebecca tunes out pretty thoroughly. She waits until he pauses for breath and slips away to do literally anything else.

* * *

Heather finds Rebecca and Greg sitting at the top of the stairs discussing the nuances of Snake Juice.

“‘S like there’s coffee ‘n also booze,” Rebecca says, sniffing the liquid in her cup.

Greg nods emphatically. “How’d they get so many things in a bottle? The top is _so small_.”

“You guys look cozy,” Heather says.

“Heather!” they greet together.

“Where’ve you been all night?” Rebecca asks. “Shouldn’t you be with this guy? It’s his birthday!”

Heather and Greg share an unreadable look. Rebecca realizes that he has been with her more than he’s been with Heather all night, but Rebecca’s mind is a bit too sluggish to figure out what that means.

“Where’s your drink?” Greg asks.

“I’m good,” she says. “I figured someone here should be sober enough to make sure nobody kills themselves.”

Rebecca raises her cup in a toast. “Our guardian angel.”

That makes Heather crack a smile, which Rebecca is more than a little proud of.

Heather says, “Okay, White Josh and Hector are playing poker, and they’re really drunk, so I’m gonna join in and take their money. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, Heather!” they call as she disappears into the crowd.

Rebecca turns back to Greg. “You guys’re a weird coup--coupe? No. People who’re dating. It’s like you don’t even like each other.”

He looks confused. “You think we’re--”

“Becks!” Josh calls from the kitchen. “Do you have a fire exting’isher?”

“Uh-oh,” she says. She stands too quickly and nearly topples down the steps, but Greg catches her by the arm. The backwards momentum throws her off her already precarious balance, making her land on his lap. “Oh. Hi.”

For a moment, the feeling of his hands holding her steady comes into sharp focus. Their faces are so close together, she can feel his breath on her cheek. If she tilts her head slightly to the right--

_Beep beep beep beep_

“That's the smoke alarm,” Greg says, glaring in the general direction of the kitchen. “Le’s go see what Josh burned.”

Rebecca stands slowly this time, then offers her hand to help Greg up. He takes it and doesn't let go as they carefully make their way down the stairs.

* * *

The next few hours are a blur of Snake Juice shots, beer pong, and karaoke. There’s no karaoke machine, though, so it’s mostly just warbling over whatever is playing on the sound system.

No one is sure why Josh insists on performing both parts of Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now,” but he gets so into it that nobody questions it by the end. Rebecca is pretty sure no one has performed “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child better than her, Paula, and Valencia. However, it’s Hector’s surprisingly moving performance of “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars that brings the remaining party guests to tears.

At some point, Rebecca makes Heather bring out Greg’s ice cream cake because Heather is the only one who can still walk in a straight line. The crowd singing “Happy Birthday” is such a mess that by the time they stumble through the song once, the cake is mostly melted from the year-round Inland Empire heat. Still, melted ice cream cake is still cake, and it’s devoured pretty quickly.

Later, Rebecca and Greg end up on the impromptu dance floor in her living room, and they have a cheesy wedding move dance off. Rebecca thinks she has it in the bag with the Shopping Cart, complete with pulling items off imaginary shelves and checking labels, but then Greg pulls off a Ride the Pony that seamlessly transitions into a Fishing Reel that hooks Josh and Valencia onto the dance floor with them.

As Paula, Hector, and White Josh join in the game of increasingly ridiculous dance moves, Rebecca thinks that even through the thick haze of drunkenness, this is a night she’ll never forget.

* * *

The next morning, sunlight streams in obnoxiously from some window or door or whatever. It combines with a pounding headache to jar Rebecca from sleep. It’s hours after the party...or maybe it’s a few minutes. She has no idea how long ago she passed out or where she is, really.

Rebecca cracks her eyes open as little as possible to take stock of her surroundings. From what she can gather, she’s on her living room floor with a soft ball of cloth wedged under her head and something warm resting on her stomach.

She looks down to see Greg fast asleep, his head pillowed on her and her hand threaded in his hair. Aside from the general feeling like she's just been hit by a train, it’s not the most uncomfortable position, if she’s honest. She’d be mortified if he woke right now, though, so she carefully extricates her hand. If she lingers slightly, she tells herself it’s just so that the sudden movement won’t wake him and not so she can memorize the feeling.

Upon reluctantly opening her eyes further, she sees several of her friends in similar states of unconsciousness scattered around her living room. White Josh, Hector, and the giant fish are spooned together on the couch. Josh and Valencia look like some couple in a catalogue asleep on the stairs. Paula is passed out on the easy chair.

What the hell happened last night? The last thing she remembers is taking her seventh--tenth?--shot of Snake Juice and possibly having a dance off with Greg. Did Josh burn her kitchen down?

With a grace she didn’t think she could manage in her state, she takes whatever was pillowing her head and transfers it under Greg as she slides herself away so as to not wake him. He stirs but only rolls over and goes back to sleep. She notices then that the cloth was the button up he was wearing the night before.

Her head hurts too much to think about what that might mean. Instead, Rebecca tiptoes over passed out guests scattered around the apartment on her way to the kitchen in search of anything to make her not feel like her stomach is trying to escape her body through her throat.

“Rebecca,” someone hisses from the front door, “come here.”

Rebecca turns way too quickly to see Heather motioning to her to come outside. In her hand is a two-liter bottle filled with a murky green substance.

As she follows Heather, Rebecca catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror next to the door. Smudged eye makeup makes her look like a deranged raccoon. Her white blouse is stained with splashes of what she hopes is Snake Juice. Groaning quietly, she grabs a discarded pair of sunglasses and slips them on.

A clear-eyed Heather waits for her outside.

“How are you not hung over?” Rebecca rasps.

“Because I didn’t drink that much. Also, I’m not 40 like the rest of you.”

“I’m barely older than you.” Rebecca’s stomach churns. “Ugh, this is the worst I’ve ever felt. What the hell did we drink?”

“Okay, grandma.” Heather holds up the bottle in her hand. “I brought a hangover cure. Snake Juice is basically rat poison. I figured all of you oldies would be dying today. Sit down.”

As Rebecca takes a seat on the front step, Heather goes inside and retrieves a plastic cup. When she pours from the bottle, the green viscous liquid splashes in chunks as it lands in the cup.

“How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?” Rebecca asks, trying to swirl the mixture in the cup but finding it barely moves.

“You look terrible. How much worse can you feel?”

“Fair point.” Rebecca pinches her nose and pours the drink into her mouth. It’s like the concoction is physically fighting its way back up her throat, but she manages to gulp it down. “Oh, my God, it tastes like satan threw up last night’s tacos in my mouth.” Almost immediately, though, her stomach starts to settle. She looks at Heather in amazement. “I think it’s working. What’s in that?”

“More alcohol with kale and liver and some other stuff you don’t need to know about.”

“For future reference, liver isn’t one of the things people want to know about.” Rebecca takes another reluctant gulp from the cup.

“So last night was fun,” Heather says lightly. “I’m glad you and Greg are talking like normal people again. All those awkward conversations and sad eyes before were really pathetic.”

“I’m sorry if I got kind of weird when you guys started going out. I was just surprised, but I totally approve--not that you need my approval.”

“Oh, no, that's been done for a while,” Heather says with a wave of her hand. “He’s cute, but it’s not like we were getting married. You guys should go for it.”

“What, me and Greg together?” Rebecca asks, forcing a laugh that only worsens her headache. “That’s hilarious. Greg and I don’t--I mean, we’re just friends.”

“Tell that to literally everyone in that apartment who saw you guys getting all handsy and making out against a wall last night.”

Rebecca is struck with a disappointment of not being able to remember it. “Wow. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. Not that it means anything. We were super drunk.” She pauses. “How long did Greg and I--no, that's not important.” She pauses again, thoughtful. “Which wall?”

Heather stares at her. “It didn't actually happen. I just wanted to see how you'd react. That was really weird.”

Rebecca tries to find it in herself to be embarrassed but only realizes she's a little upset that there was no making out.

The front door opens behind them. Greg winces against the sunlight as he pokes his head out.

“Rebecca?” he asks groggily. “Oh, hey, Heather. Rebecca, do you have aspirin? Or better yet, sleeping pills so I can end it all because I feel terrible?”

Rebecca thrusts the bottle of green liquid into Greg’s hands. “Heather brought a gross miracle cure. Drink some and give it to the others. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

Greg looks like he wants to say something but retreats and closes the door behind him.

Heather continues as if they weren't interrupted, “When are you going to ask him out?”

Rebecca cradles her forehead in her hands. “I am not in the right state to have this conversation.”

“You both clearly like each other. What are you waiting for?”

“We’re just friends,” she repeats weakly. “If I promise to talk to him, will you stop talking?”

“Sure.”

“Fine. I'll talk to him.”

“Okay. Go get ‘em, tiger. I’m just gonna…” Heather trails off as she stands and exits the gate.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere else. I am not going to listen to a bunch of hungover people fighting to throw up in your one toilet.”

At that moment, Rebecca hears several pairs of feet rush upstairs to get to the bathroom. Wincing, she hauls herself up and goes inside.

* * *

An hour later, Rebecca has managed to wake everyone, force feed them some of Heather’s shockingly effective hangover cure, and practically push the last of the guests out of her apartment.

“Thanks for inviting us,” White Josh says, propping up Hector as they stumble out.

“Yeah,” Hector agrees. “It was really fun except for this part right now.”

“Okay, White Josh,” Rebecca groans, leaning heavily on the door frame with her eyes closed. “That's nice, Hector. Get out of my house, bye.”

The only one left is Greg, who is sprawled on her couch, an ice pack balanced on his forehead.

“Does the ice help?” she asks as she shuts the blinds.

“The frostbite distracts from wanting to dispose of all of my insides.”

Rebecca pushes Greg’s feet off the couch so she can plop down at the other end. She tilts her head back against the back of the couch and closes her eyes. “Oh, God, I’ve never been this hungover. It’s like everything I ate in the last month time traveled back into my stomach and is trying to come out all at the same time.”

“Stop describing things,” he groans as he sits up, leaning against her.

“Sorry,” Rebecca says to the ceiling. “You know what, it wasn’t a bad turn out last night.”

“It was a fun party. You did a good job.”

She lolls her head to the side to look at him. Maybe the headache is dulling her perception, but she doesn’t detect any sarcasm. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.” He tilts his head towards her. “Thank you. It was a pretty good birthday.”

“Aside from the dying.”

“Aside from the dying,” he agrees. “Do you remember any of it?”

Rebecca thinks for a moment. “Only that I kicked your ass in beer pong. You?”

“I remember that you cheated.”

“I played entirely by the set rules.”

“Those...other weapons were not in the rules. I want a re-match.”

She lazily smacks his knee with her hand. “Sore loser.”

They sit in a comfortable silence, surveying the battlefield of empty cups, drooping decorations, and picked-over food table.

“I should start cleaning,” Rebecca says, making no move to stand.

“I’ll help.” Greg remains equally inert.

“You’re not moving.”

“Neither are you.”

They’re both still. Finally, Greg says, “It’s still kind of early. Maybe we should sleep more to have energy to clean.”

“You’re a genius,” she yawns, sinking lower onto the couch and instinctively leaning her head on his shoulder. She realizes what she’s done and freezes, wondering if she can play it off as a stretch gone on way too long. But then he moves his arm to wrap around her shoulders so she can rest her head on his chest, and maybe this party was a pretty good idea after all.

Before Rebecca falls asleep, she murmurs, “Happy Birthday, Greg.”

“Yeah, it is,” he returns sleepily. She can feel him smiling against her hair.

Her head’s pounding, and her stomach’s still churning, but she thinks right now is the best she’s felt in a while.

 

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> The SnakeHole/Snake Juice note from the website is [very much real](http://www.snakeholelounge.com/special-events/snakejuice.shtml). Thanks, Parks writers!
> 
> Also, shout out to greengoodnight for inspiring the White Josh bit. He is a deep individual, that WiJo.


End file.
